Lizzy Ford - Mind Café

Mind Caf

By

Lizzy Ford

Copyright 2010 by LizzyFord

SmashwordsEdition

Cover design copyright 2010by Matt Edmondson

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See other titles by LizzyFord at http://www.guerrillawordfare.com/

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My left eye didnt open this morning, a suresign of my bodys accelerating demise. Sometimes, if my nurse Mariapositioned me right, I could see the long silver braid of my hairresting over my shoulder. Maria dealt with me like she did anyother pieces of furniture in the room, but she at least alwaysbraided my hair, the most beautiful part of me. It was all I couldtake pride in since my body was taken in a car accident that leftme a thinking vegetable with beautiful hair.

According to some strange MTV Halloweenspecial, scaring myself to death was possible, if the doctors wouldallow mirrors in my room. I once convinced myself the true reasonthe doctors didnt allow me to see myself was because they wereslowly removing pieces of my body, one by one, year after year, andI was nothing but a floating head with a beautiful silver braid.This, too, happened once in a cartoon on MTV, except that the headwas encased in its own little helmet and buzzed around the room. IfI could, I would probably hide under the bed where its dark andpretend I was dead.

As much as I hated MTV the only channelMaria watched I was lonely when the TV was off.

I retreated to my only refuge, the MindCaf, shortly after realizing my left eye wasnt working and sat inone of the four fluffy, red leather booths before a plain table.The Caf was brightly lit and consisted of two windows throughwhich I could watch Maria or the TV, a door in the corner forvisitors, and an eerie white wall to my right, through which thealready-dead came to visit. Sometimes the Caf was freezing or toohot or the lights were off or it smelled funny. These days, Iremembered that the Mind Caf wasnt truly mine but was some sortof purgatorial halfway house run by a moody guardian angel thattook too many smoke breaks.

There was nothing on the table again today,not the notebooks the moody angel had made disappear weeks ago ormy favorite chocolate cake or the caf mocha I craved. Hed beennegligent for over a month. I tapped my fingers and waited for anyvisitors. In the Caf, I had the body I lost when I was 24 down tomy favorite shoes and shirt. All was as it should have been, withthe exception of the long silver braid over my shoulder. I willedmy fingernail polish to change from blue to pink and watched thetransformation.

The door in the corner jingled as it opened.One of my best friends, Joey - a barrel-chested man with scrawnylegs, hawkish features, and bright blue eyes entered with asmile. He visited regularly to tell me about his wife andgrandkids, his projects around the house, his job.

Hey Rosie! he said, sliding into the boothacross from me. I finished my dresser this weekend.

The new one?

Pink? he replied, eyes on my nails. Itold you your skin is too fair for that shade of pink.

Its cheerful!

Yes, the dresser is a cherry color. It tookthree quarters of a gallon of paint. Can you imagine? Sheila saidit would take more, but its just a standard dresser with drawersmeasuring 20 by 30 by 8 inches. Theres no need for more than agallon.

I guess it depends on how many coats ittakes.

Yeah, probably. I think Ill sand it andjust put two coats. Its a cheapy anyway. I paid 40 for theunfinished dresser and $4.35 the paint. Its in a dark corner whereno one can see it.

I smiled and leaned my head against thebooth. Joey was an engineer obsessed with numbers in any form. Heknew the price of a can of chicken soup in every major grocerystore within fifteen miles of his home and told time down to thesecond.

You writing another book? he asked.

I was, but my notebooks havent appeared ina few days, I said and glanced back towards the glowing wall.

I suspected everything I wanted in life wasbehind that wall, including my notebooks. It bothered me when mythings appeared one day and disappeared the next. Sometimes I hadcoffee and notebooks, and sometimes I went days with nothing, evenvisitors.

They havent had carrot cake in thirteendays, Joey complained. Bastards.

Take it up with I waved towards theback wall. If I had any control here, Id have my notebooks, andyoud have carrot cake. I almost finished my second novel,too.

Which one?

The second of the trilogy I staredBDA.

BDA stood for Before the Damn Accident.There was another, ADA, After the Damn Accident. I used to callthese times BFA and AFA before deciding I would win no favor withthe Greater Being by using too much profanity.

Didnt Lily finish it for you?

I like my version better. Lily inheritedthe technology genes, and I got the creative genes. I love my sis,but she couldnt write to save her life.

But she did get your first book publishedand then published her version of the second book, right?

God, how I loved my sister, Lily! She trulybelieved seeing my book in print would heal me. I still rememberedthe anguished look in her eyes when she realized it wouldnt.

She had it published by a vanitypublisher, I replied, mood souring.

So?

Its not a real publisher. She paid someoneto print it.

But its a still a book in print. I boughttwenty of them.

Whatever, I muttered. Those not in thepublishing industry never understood a writers yearning to havepublishing conglomerates drooling over the rights to a writersbook. I saw vanity publishing as the act of a desperate writer, andyet I loved my sister even more for what she did: shelled out herown money to make my dream come true.

I wrote a book about our discussions overdinner in college, Joey continued.

They were never boring conversations!

Nope, he agreed. You remember the onewhere we plotted to take over Egypt?

Yeah! That lasted almost two weeks, and wehad a great plan!

I put that in there. I took Egypt out andmade up a country, though. I didnt want the feds to think Im upto something.

Youre too old by now to take that kind ofaction anyway.

Hell yeah. Ill be 60 in three months, twodays, and five hours, give or take a few. Im officially a dirtyold man. You know how cool that is?

I shook my head.

Its one of the stages of life. Dirty oldmanhood is what every man secretly waits for, he said with alopsided smile.

The windows were blocked for a moment,throwing the Caf into darkness. We both looked to see Maria passwith a vacuum.

Did I tell you shes from Guatemala? Iasked.

No way!

She is!

Half the doctors at Sheilas school werefrom some five-week medical program in Guatemala. The only Englishwords they knew were motrin and times up.

I remember that!

He cocked his head to the side, listening tothe silent call that took my visitors away. I never understood whatdrew my visitors away, or even what possessed them to visit.

Times up, he said with a grin. Ill comeby in a few days.

I frowned and watched him go. He crossed tothe door with a wave. I waved back and saw that my nails were blueagain. The door jingled, and he was gone.

I sighed and rested my hands in my lap. Iwas dressed in my favorite blue jeans and red v-neck t-shirt. Myclunky clogs were off and my legs folded beneath me in the booth. Iplayed with my long, silver braid for a moment before glancing outthe window and seeing an MTV beach party on the television. It wasnot something I cared to watch, so I stretched out in thecomfortable red booth and gazed at the mirrored ceiling.